


with ten thousand

by cloudburst



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Implied Character Death, M/M, i came up with this story from one sentence and i just had to get it out, i just hate using the archive warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 21:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: Because of Jordan, I knew MacCready’s happiness. Because of Jordan, I will know his demise.MacCready is in love.Good things never last.





	with ten thousand

**Author's Note:**

> this concept came to me with one sentence at the end aaaaah and i just needed to write it before i forgot
> 
> cw: death, guns, fallout stuff

I know him intimately—better than anyone before me, and far better than anyone following. I witnessed the death of his wife, heard his silent tears as he saved his son from the demise that had become increasingly inevitable. The ferals would have gotten them both; they’d all three have been killed. But he could rely on me, for I always strike true. 

I knew his suffering as he left his son. Duncan would always forgive him; we both knew that, but it became the dilemma of forgiving himself. It became: how can I live with myself? And he became a shell of the man he once was—continuing to take lives and trade them for caps. No longer was life a precious commodity, for there was nothing he would not do to find a cure. I would always help him. He held me as the gunners assigned another job, and I did strike true. I would do anything for him as he melded me beneath the coarse palms I’d come to know far better than any other sensation. I would do anything for him even now, as I cannot refuse. 

Now, I will break his heart in the very rain where I felt love bloom. But I have never been one for sentiment. 

I knew his resignation as he fell farther away from his task, but he knew that he would save his son—no matter the cost; Duncan must live, if only to provide himself with the consolation that he had not fucked up everything beautiful his life had once held; he needed to prove that the tendency to dash his favorite, delicate things to the wall till they break is not a fault of his own—but a fault of circumstance. I would help to prove him wrong, to show him his own faults as he pulled. It was his fault, this time. 

I knew his confusion as the man drenched from the pouring rain approached him—the two Gunner bastards I will not dignify with name threatening to ruin everything he had built in Duncan’s name: the reputation, the caps. He could not let that happen, and perhaps that is why—when the man with the smooth voice asked if 200 caps was sufficient—he agreed. I know it was not the way the man’s dark eyes burned into him, at least not then. Not yet. 

I knew his hatred for his new boss, for the man was insufferable; he was everything MacCready believed he could not stand, but was in fact everything MacCready had always needed. Like hell he would admit that to himself, though. I still striked true, even under new command, MacCready’s eyes burning holes into the back of his new boss’ head when he refused to take his advice. I will admit, the man was a better shot than MacCready, even with me as a guide. 

I knew his confusion as the man so readily agreed to help him despite the presupposed animosity that existed between the two; I knew the way MacCready’s heart rate would speed up when his fingers brushed across MacCready’s side. It was a ghost of a touch—a phantom that was never meant to appear, but it had. And MacCready was ruined for it, though he still was not sure why. I knew his confusion when they found the cure—when he went with Jordan to Goodneighbor to have Daisy send the medicine to Duncan. His name was Jordan, MacCready would remind himself. His name is Jordan. 

I knew the growth of gardens and the splintering of a ribcage as MacCready placed the wooden soldier into Jordan’s dark palm. His fingers gently closed around the trinket. 

I heard MacCready’s voice, soft—for once—his hands fidgeting at his sides. “I just want you to know how much your friendship means to me.”

I knew Jordan’s voice, then: a low, soft thing that worked its way to MacCready. I knew MacCready would be gone. “I was hoping what we have together could be more than friendship.”

MacCready was confused—so confused, but it all began to make sense, from the phantom of a touch to now it had always been building, and this moment was the crest of the wave before it crashed down upon them—the break crushing them to the ocean floor. He inquired about Nora, for he couldn’t find the words he’d longed to say. 

I knew MacCready’s demise as Jordan’s words became a whisper. “That’s the past. You’re all that matters to me now.” And he didn’t think anyone in the world could have asked for a greater gift than that. 

I knew MacCready’s heartbeat—rapidly betraying him beneath Jordan’s flat palm as his legs straddled Jordan’s hips, Jordan’s back pressed to the lumpy mattress. There were calloused hands running along MacCready’s thighs, then up his chest as MacCready leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Jordan’s until the moment their lips met, MacCready’s eyes closing. I know that he felt explosions. He sighed as he rested his forehead against Jordan’s—his own hands placed on Jordan’s chest as strong arms wrapped around his bare waist. He had bared everything now. 

His voice was the quietest I had ever heard it—barely a whisper as his palm came up to caress Jordan’s right cheek, immediately below the scarring MacCready would pretend that he did not stare at. Jordan knew that he did. 

“Can I touch it?”

A soft exhale. “Yes.” 

I knew conflict as MacCready’s fingertips traced the scar from the top of Jordan’s eyebrow, down across his cheek. He knew these were relics of the war, just as Jordan himself was. But that life was gone, and MacCready often wondered if Jordan himself felt the loss. He needed Jordan to know that he still had something to lose, whispering softly as his palm rested across Jordan’s cheek—fingertips still running across the faded scars. “The day you told me that you loved me was the greatest day of my life.” A kiss, followed by a shaking breath. “I love you, too.”

They did not speak for the rest of the night.  
Because of Jordan, I knew MacCready’s happiness. Because of Jordan, I will know his demise. I always strike true. 

I knew MacCready’s distress as he received word that the cure was not working for Duncan; his boy was still blue; his boy was still a goner, and it had all been for nothing—leaving him, killing—everything was wrong. I knew his anger as Jordan told him to calm down, to calm down because they would figure something out together as they always had—as they always had since Jordan had hired him on. He told Jordan he couldn’t possibly understand the loss. Jordan had remained silent. 

I knew MacCready’s regret. Because of course he could. 

That night MacCready made love to Jordan slowly beneath the cover of a roof damaged by radiation, but he would not break this. He would have so much to atone for. Jordan had said that he loved him, and MacCready believed they could never be broken. 

I know his truth. 

I know his truth, just as I knew his conflict—his inability to choose between the love of the person who had made him feel whole again, versus the love of a son that would remain neverending. I feel it is obvious which he chose, as the Gunners came to him for one last job. They’d said 10,000 caps; that would be enough to cure Duncan and then some. That would be a whole new life. 

MacCready had a decision to make, and in the end, I suppose that I helped him to make it. 

I knew MacCready’s heartbeat as he followed Jordan down to the river. Jordan had wanted to show him something, and MacCready had readily obliged even before Jordan had kissed him into submission. Their hearts beat as one, and MacCready couldn’t stand it. And I knew MacCready’s heartbeat once more, as weeds bloomed where flowers had once thrived. 

The thunder cracked, and the heavy rain began—but he did not regret following Jordan down to the riverbank near Sanctuary. The water had been purified, and Jordan was unaware of the latent danger. 

“The rain is nice. Makes me think the earth is healing itself.” A shaky breath. “Like you’ve been helping me, RJ, healing me, and I—” A pause. “I need you to know, you mean the world to me. I suppose my old thinking spot is a funny way to say thank you for saving my life, but here we are.”

I knew MacCready hated that Jordan had charmed him, up until this very moment. God, he loved him so much. He would always love him. 

I clicked. 10,000 caps, was a lot of caps. MacCready’s voice was soft, like that night Jordan had said he’d loved him, like the time he’d remarked: _‘Don’t get too far ahead, I like being close.’_ Now, he was too close, standing behind Jordan as he stared out across the river. 

I was raised, calloused hands holding me in their palms. “I love you, Jordan,” he whispered. Now, I will break his heart. 

He squeezes me, and I crack.

I am his gun, and I always strike true.

**Author's Note:**

> the sentence that inspired me was: "I am his gun."
> 
> let me know what ya thiiiink!


End file.
